Harry Potter: The TRUE Stories
by I'mActuallyASquib
Summary: Have you ever wondered how the other characters felt, especially about their lifes? Well, this is the chance to find out! Many character one-shots, mostly about their lives and the Final Battle, but I take requests! I will also do scenes from the books.
1. Severus Snape

So...what do you all think? This was a random thought I had, when I was suffering writer's block on my other story, **The Life and Lies of Lily Evans and James Potter**. Tell me what you think! Also, do you think I should add other characters? I know it's barely 1000 words...should I add some more, do you think?

Please review and tell me what you think/don't like!

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**Severus Snape**

People think it's easy being me.

To them, I'm just the snarky, slimy Slytherin Snape who picks on poor Harry Potter for no reason. People say it's because of his father.

Please.

I hated James Potter because he was a stuck-up, arrogant bully. It may sound catty (or snakey) but it's true. Potter hated me because I had the nerve to be a _Slytherin_ and be friends with his precious Lily. Just because I wasn't a insetsitive arse-hole to her didn't mean I loved her.

Which I did, in the end.

Potter always started fights in front of Lily. Always started them 4-on-1. Why? Because he was afraid and jealous of Lily and my relationship. Really, I could go as far as to say that Sirius Black and James Potter drove me to join Voldemort. They turned the entire school against me. They made fun of my greasy hair, my large, "hooked" nose, how I always dressed in black and my painfully skinny body.

If only they knew.

Lily was the only one to know _why_ my nose was hooked like it was. She knew that my father had broken it too many times to count. She was the only one to know that I washed my hair liberally but had been cursed by a mad mother. My father had driven my mother into insanity, and, thinking I was him, had cursed me. My hair would never hang glossy and smooth.

Lily was the only one to know that my body was covered in bruises and scars, and that the reason I was in the Hospital wing for nearly a month in my sixth year was because my father had beat the shite out of be for being first in all my classes. Yes, for being _first._ Why, one might ask. He did it because I was "soaking up too much unnaturalness like your bitch of a mum".

Lily was the only one to ever care, and she was looked down on because of it. It was cruel and unfair, but who was I to complain? I had my own problems, after all.

One of the reasons that Black always hit a nerve within me was because somewhere in him I saw myself. Or rather, I saw who I could have been. I could tell he was abused. I saw all the signs I chose to repress. Bullying, in order to release your pent-up aggression at the abuser. Resentment at the world. A mask (Black's was one of a ladies man) to hide your true self.

I know Black saw that he and I were alike. He escaped it, though. He chose the easy way out, choosing not to help me and instead making Hogwarts, which I had hoped would become my home, a living hell.

I resented them. I resented them because they thought themselves better than I. They thought that I was an evil Slytherin out for no good, and when Black set Lupin on me, well, I snapped. I called Lily the M-word. I do not know why.

Or maybe I do.

I knew things. Being in Slytherin, well, you often knew things before the rest of the school did. I knew of this "Dark Lord". I knew what he offered. Power, ambition, a chance to rule the world. I knew whom they targeted. People like Lily. I knew that she was in danger, associating we me. I knew it and I feared for her.

She would be better off with people like Potter. Potter loved her; he would never let her go.

People think I renounced Voldemort because of many different reasons: I loved Lily (partly true), I was a coward, my Death Eatership was an elaborate ploy of Dumbledore's…

I am tired of it all.

I renounced Voldemort because he, indirectly, stole my life.

I was never a child. My mum, in an attempt to rebel against him and his ideals, married a Muggle. The result of that action was years of pain and misery for both of us.

I was never a teenager. Those in Slytherin, and following him and his ideals, delighted in my ability and affinity to create Dark spells. Black and Potter believed I was going Dark and thought I was trying to bring Lily over to the Dark side. They both unknowingly made my Hogwarts life hell, pressuring and taunting me. If not for Lily, well, I would've gone mad.

I was only an adult, and I will forever hate Voldemort for what he has done to me.

Still, people say I hate Harry Potter because he looks like Potter Sr. No. I hate—no, _resent_ Potter because he is me. He is abused. I know it. Dumbledore uses him like he did me. Everyone expects things of him, like they did me. And, does he care? No. He is as closed minded as the rest of them, and that hurts me. It hurts that he would allow them to use him, and not care.

It's not easy being the sharp, sly, sneaky Potions Professor. Everyone misunderstands me, makes assumptions about me, and looks at me with contempt because they do not know my story.

"So, tell them," Dumbledore says to me one month after the Final Battle.

I stand up and look him in the eye. "They don't deserve it. When they want to know my story to know _me_, instead of Severus Snape, they can come beg. Until then, they can gossip and speculate away. I am above such things, and I know it. I quit."

I toss something behind me and exit the office for the last time, ignoring the single tear glistening in Dumbledore's eye as he picks up the shiny Phoenix pin. I am through with being used. From now on, I am _me._

I will be free.


	2. Albus Dumbledore

**Albus Dumbledore**

It's hard to be the brains of the entire operation.

Honestly. You're _never_ appreciated enough! I mean, I went through _years_ of planning to secure Harry on the right path, and all anyone can say is that I "used" him. People may say I was cruel for ensuring he had to die, but there was a 70/30 chance he would survive.

Also, I didn't only have to take care of Harry. Oh, no. I had ensure Hogwarts was safe, Severus wasn't killed, the Order didn't murder me, and that Voldemort had no idea what was going on, _and_ I had to make sure Minerva didn't castrate me.

I knew I would die before peace would be made. Voldemort would never come after Harry otherwise, and Harry would never've sacrificed himself if I were still alive. The deception, the trickery, the lying and manipulation that goes into planning a war, well, it's enough to drive _anyone_ mad.

Harry once asked me what I saw in the Mirror of Erisad. I told him a simple lie, one of millions told every week. He didn't believe me, but didn't push as every other person I knew did.

I will forever be thankful for it.

But, what _did_ the "Great Albus Dumbledore" see? Riches? Fame? Power? Love?

Yes and no. I saw my family around me. Ariana was well and tugging on my hair just like she used to, jabbing about fantastical creatures. Aberforth was looking at me, friendship in his eyes. My mum was hugging me, proud love and affection shining in her eyes. My father was alive and well, standing tall with one hand on my shoulder, eyes twinkling.

One thing was missing, though, and it shocked me to the core. In the mirror everyone looked to be as old as they would've when I met Gellert. However, Gellert was nowhere to be found.

As I thought this over, a image replaced the one I saw. An image of the Hallows came to the front, and then Gellert. However, Gellert was wearing the clothes customary of Azkaban.

I think that right then, as a teacher, I knew what I needed to do. I turned around and resolved to do my damnedest to ensure that no Dark Lord would ever rise again.

If only I knew.

*

"What is your least/most proudest achievement?" Rita Skeeter once asked me. I didn't answer her at the time, but that question haunted me all my life. My most proudest experience? I will never know. I do not have a lot of proud achievements.

From abandoning my sister to befriending Gellert to allowing Harry to see the Mirror of Erised to getting mixed up in the Hallows, well, my entire life has been one big mistake.

I was gay. I admit it freely. I say "was" because after Gellert turned Dark my heart broke. I swore off men forever, and tried to convince myself I loved my pre-Gellert sweetheart, Minerva McGonagall.

I never got over Gellert, but one day, towards the end of my life, I figured that maybe I hadn't wanted to.

It scared me.

Gellert showed me things. He was like me: misunderstood, brilliant, aspiring to be noticed. From the first moment I met that handsome, brilliant boy I liked him.

It wasn't his fault we got mixed up in everything. Oh, no; I can (not) proudly say I nearly created two Dark Lords. I was reading a children's book to my dear sister, Ariana, one day, when I saw it.

The Deathly Hallows: A Cloak of Invisibility, the Resurrection Stone, and the Elder Wand.

I was hooked. I began researching in a frenzy. Imagine all the power, the prestige, and the fame this would bring. I would be invincible!

"_Imagine; the two of us, respected, revered, and feared. We'd be invincible, Albus. Nobody would ever be as powerful as us."_ He would whisper to me, slyly hooking me onto the idea.

Did I know, then, that he was turning Dark? The answer is yes, but I repressed the thought. I salivated at the thought of true power.

"_We'd need to get rid of those who stole their magic,"_ Gellert would say, caressing me under my chin, his lips brushing mine.

This went on for a month, when I, nearly _mad_ with power, wrote that fateful letter.

'_For the Greater Good'_ is the most godforsaken phrase on this Earth. I do not know what possessed me to write that, but I did.

Years later, when I possessed the Elder Wand, I would turn it around in my fingers. Was it truly worth it? I had the first Hallow, but my family (minus Aberforth) and Gellert were dead, and Aberforth hated me.

He accused me of selfishness. I could not deny it. He accused me of ambition. I would turn away. He accused me of cold-heartedness. I merely sucked on a lemon drop. He accused me of thinking of murder. A tear would escape me. He accused me of going Dark.

I punched him.

Oh, yes. I punched him in the jaw. I left soon after.

Then, I became a Transfiguration teacher and Tom Riddle showed up. He reminded me of myself: handsome, brilliant, charming. I should've recognized the signs, but I didn't want to.

"_You can chose what's Right or what's Easy,"_ I once said at an Order Initiation Meeting. I am a hypocrite. I chose what was Easy: ignoring (to some extent) young Tom Riddle.

Until later on, when he graduated; it was a pity that it took me seven years to see it: he was as Dark as Gellert; if not more.

'I am Lord Voldemort'. 'Tom Marvelo Riddle'. They hold the same letters but the meaning is vastly different. Tom Marvelo Riddle is a rebellious orphan introduced to the ways of magic, Light and Dark. Lord Voldemort was a boy driven by much the same means as I was, in my youth, except Voldemort completed his quest.

He became virtually immortal.

I'd always known of Horcruxes; they fascinated Gellert while I was appalled.

We had many arguments on the subject, until I discovered the Hallows. We would be virtually immortal with those, I told him. He didn't believe me, but I persisted.

*

Harry Potter was a mark on my less-than-perfect life. I knew then, years ago, when young Harry Potter put the hat over his head, that he would be Light. It's funny, but I can say that if it were not for Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, could've gone dark.

Severus thought I was staring at Harry out of favortism. Little did he know I was using Legilimency on him and the hat…

'_Not Slytherin, eh?"_ I heard and I smiled. It doesn't matter who we are, really. Sirius Black proved that. We control our life; it is our decisions that make who we really are.

So, Harry was a Gryffindor, and it seemed as though everything was safe. People say I was a daft fool for hiring Quirinus Quirrell. I didn't know that Tom Riddle was residing in his head, nor did I know of his fascination with the Stone. I didn't let Quirrell participate in the guarding, after all. I did know, however, that Quirrell wasn't entirely Light. _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,_ I thought.

When the troll was let in, I knew it was Quirrel. But, the friendship that formed as a result was so strong (even though they didn't know it) that I let it slide and secretly awarded Gryffindor thirty points that night.

Then, I was called from the school on urgent business. The Order (or what was left of it) had a lead on Tom's old lair, so to speak.

Of course, that night, Quirrell struck. Miss Granger managed to get a message to me in time for me to rescue Harry. I could barely imagine what effect this would have on Harry! Fortunately, he remained mostly the same.

Then, in Harry's second year, I should have realized Ginny Weasley was acting off. I didn't know, however, what her behavior should have been like, and I thought she was just homesick. I was also desperately trying to find and capture the Basilisk.

When Miss Weasley was taken, well, I admit I was terrified. And Harry! Harry managed when I had abandoned my school in times of need. I heard the whole story, and I was shocked. Giant Spiders and wild Ford Angela's! Dead ghosts (?) and singing Valentines? Parseltongue and Gilderoy Lockhart? It was definitely a crazy year. I toyed with the idea of divulging the prophecy but…no. How could I do that to a poor twelve year old?

It was then, though, that I realized what the Diary actually was. It scared me.

Third year, when I hired Remus, Severus was intolerable. I admit I turned a blind eye onto the mischief of Harry and his friends. I let them get away with so much, so involved in the search for Horcruxes.

Fourth Year, well, I cringe at the thought. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was a disaster. I did try my hardest to ensure poor Harry was able to resign, but to no avail.

I toyed with the idea of telling him to do the least possible in the tournament, but I knew it would do no good. One look at Harry and I knew he was thirsting to prove himself to all who doubted him, but it wasn't serious yet.

Fifth Year: I am truly sorry for the way I treated Harry. Voldemort was interfering I my mind, I knew it. So, due to this, I could not talk to Harry, look at him, help him with his demons. If I knew what was going on, Voldemort would know. I used the Pensieve liberally that year; all that was left in my head was nonsense, really. It infuriated Voldemort so much he withdrew.

Not to mention that _toad _Umbridge was interfering.

When I was taken from the school I stayed at Grimmauld Place, keeping tabs on Harry…and when I saw that he left the premises I knew I had to track him down.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been watching the visitor's entrance of the Ministry, on my orders. I had hoped Harry would not actually go to the Ministry, but I was wrong. The Floo in Grimmauld's Place had been closed up for "cleaning"—Kreacher's work, obviously.

I had to take the Muggle's entrance to the Ministry, because when Nympadora tried to Floo in from another Floo, she spun right out the same gate. When Sirius tried to Apparate, he nearly splinched himself…you had to be nearly within the Ministry grounds to safely Apparate.

When we did break in, however, I took the liberty of awaking Fudge and young Percival. I got that special picture to pass along a message to Fudge.

Then, when poor Sirius took a Stunner in front of the Veil, he still had coherent thought. His eyes latched onto mine, and I employed Legilimency on him, to learn his last request.

'_Tell…it…Harry…I'm sorry…I love him…_' Sirius thought, before falling gracefully. I blew out a deep breath, before I spotted Harry running after Bellatrix with a crazed look in his eyes.

When Tom and I fought, it weakened me. I hurled spell after spell at him, calling up memories from Gellert's days that I had converted to Light.

Then, the unbearable happened. Voldemort possessed Harry.

I spoke to him, encouraged him to feel love. He gazed at his friends, once, twice, three times before shoving Tom out of his head.

It was brilliant.

Sixth Year came and went, and I gazed at Severus on that fateful night.

"_Severus,_" I plead with him. "Severus…please."

Severus looks at me. _I hate you, old man,_ he thinks to me, before shouting that fateful curse.

I was gone; gone onto the Next Great Adventure.

I can only hope I spoke to Harry when he died. I will never know; the dead does not have memories of later events.

I met Gellert again, up here.

He has a lot of explaining to do, but I know I will forgive him.

I have to.

If I don't I will be no better then Tom Riddle.

I will not let that happen.

---

A/N: did you like it? I'm suffering severe writers block on my other story…hehe…so you get this instead! It's not as good as Snape's was, by far, but I kinda like it. Kinda.

Reviews are appreciated!

Zanna


	3. Sirius Black

**Sirius Black**

It's ironic, really, that when I died I felt more alive then I'd had in months.

I can thank my cousin, Bellatrix, for that.

I remember it like it was yesterday (which it actually could've been; in death, time works differently)…the panicked voice of Kingsley, telling us Harry was in danger; the horrible, squeezing feeling of Apparating against wards; the air around Dumbledore crackling with power…

Though my body was coursing with fear for my godson, I felt nearly deliriously happy. No more hiding out in Grimmauld Place while my mum shrieked at me and old Snivellus made snide comments about "how nice it was to laze around all day whilst others were risking their necks".

Ah, the price of freedom.

So, when I began to duel side-by-side with Harry, I put my heart and soul into it. Why, you might ask? I was trying to make up for the _years_ of neglect that _I_ had caused.

If I had been thinking clearly, I could've—no, _would've_ stayed to look after Harry. I wouldn't go after Wormtail…not yet, at least. I would've made sure Harry was safe before going to Dumbledore and letting him know everything.

But, mad with grief, I went after that bastard, and the rest, they say, is history.

* * *

Some people ask me why I loathed Snape so much. I know why James hated him: Snivellus was in love with Lily. I know why Peter hated him: he was a threat. Remus hated him because…well, Remus didn't hate him. Remus merely disliked him, and would never actively pursue Snape.

As for me? Not that I would ever admit it, of course, but Snape reminded me of who I could've been, if I were half-blood. He was a Slytherin, expected to be Dark and follow their morals, be all blood-obsessed and for what? Fear?

That could've been me—no, that _was_ my brother. And, it frightened me, and I channeled my fear into dislike.

It worked, and I don't think Snivelly every realized it, too.

Now, I did love my brother. I tried to protect him, in fact.

"_Why don't you just agree to whatever they say, Sirius? Why do you refuse and get hurt?" Regulas whispered, helping me up into my bed after yet another drunken beating._

"_Reg—I can't. If I agree, which I __**don't**__, they'll expect me to keep agreeing, and I can't do that."_

"_Can't or won't?" Regulus looked at me with his big, dark eyes, so similar to my own and I sighed. He was only seven, after all._

"_Reg, I'm going to Hogwarts next year, right?" I asked him, noting the way his eyes opened in fear._

"_No, Sirius…don't leave me," he whispered, but the last three words were barely hearable._

"_Regulus, I have to. Promise me something, Reg—don't follow my example. Be the "perfect" son so they won't hurt you, okay? Please, promise me—and in three years, when you join me, I __**will**__protect you. Promise me, Reg." I pleaded with him._

_Regulus pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and held is head up regally in the "Black" stance. _

"_I promise, brother."_

Regulus played his part well. He gave me torment in school, as expected, "thought" Mudbloods were beneath him, and was as haughty and regal as a Black should be.

When I ran away from home, I think he was shattered. For a while afterwards we would exchange letters and meet every month, but then—

Then, I don't know what happened. One day, we were secretly meeting in an empty classroom as we did every month, then—the next day, Regulus shunned me entirely. I tried to talk to him, but he ignored me.

And in my seventh year—his _fifth_—I can remember the day I found out he was a—you know, a _thing_—with total clarity.

"_Reg, what's the matter? Tell me," I pleaded with my stubborn brother. "It's my last year…can we at least play one practical joke on Bella like we'd planned?"_

"_Sirius…Sirius, Sirius, Sirius," mocked my brother. If it were anyone else talking to my brother they would think he was serious (no pun intended) but I knew him. "__**This**__ is why __**I**__am the perfect son. You betrayed us, Sirius. You betrayed me."_

"_Reg, I never betrayed you!" I cried, shocked he would think such a thing. _

"_Don't even start, Sirius," spat my brother hatefully. "You betrayed __**us**__ when you became a sodding Gryffindork. You betrayed __**me**__ when you left! That's right, you left! You promised me you would stay, and you left!"_

"_Oh, and what was I supposed to do, Reg? Stay and be __**beaten**__ to death? You never had a problem with my House before!"_

"_That was before—" Regulus stopped, stiffened, and looked away._

"_Before what, Reg?" I had a sneaking suspicion of what he was talking about._

"_Don't you __**dare**__ call me 'Reg', you bastard!" Regulas stood regally and whipped out his wand. I saw a flicker of something—hate? Fear? Weary acceptence?—in his eyes, before he covered it up with the familiar "Black mask"._

"_I'm your brother, Reg! I can help you!"_

"_NO!" Regulus screamed, "No! You can't help me—nobody can help me! I've made my choice, Sirius, and it's time for you to make yours!"_

"_Oh, no, Reg—__**no**__," I closed my eyes in realization._

"_Please, Sirius—please! Join us—join __**me**__. Together—please!" Regulus had a half-crazed look in his eyes. It was one of fear and uncertainty, and I sighed. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth—the motion so achingly familiar I winced at what we'd become--_

"_I can't, Reg." I said, bracing myself for the outburst that never came._

"_Fine. Sirius—you are no brother of mine…you haven't been for a long time." Regulus stood, bared his left arm defiantly at me._

_The small skull and snake there made me physically sick._

"_Reg—" I pleaded one last time, though I knew he, I, __**we**__—could never be the same again. It was like he said—he had chosen his path and I had chosen mine._

"_Farewell, brother." Regulus took a step towards me, his hand half-going out, like he was reaching for something. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth—the motion so achingly familiar I winced at what we'd become—before he turned around and walked slowly away. _

"_Reg!" I called after him. He stiffened, though didn't turn around. "Just—just remember that I don't blame you, alright? And—you're still my brother. Good-bye, Regulus, and—good luck."_

_He nodded once and fled. _

I don't know what possessed me to say that. That entire conversation was more profound and emotional then any other conversation I'd ever had.

You see, "Sirius Black" was a prankster. Life was easier that way. I didn't have profound thoughts other then, _"Whoa that girl is __**hot**__,"_ or, _"I wonder what prank we should do next," _or, _"I wonder how many detentions I'd get away with before a note would be sent home."_

So, you could see that having such an emotionally draining conversation was out of the ordinary.

I wasn't stupid, though. Far from it—in fact, James and I were the smartest and top of the class in Transfiguration, and I scored second highest on my O. and my N.E.. I was tied with James; the first was Lily Evans and Remus (also tied).

However, being a prankster and mischief-maker was simpler—but sometimes, in that rare moment when I _do_ think profound thoughts, I wonder who I really am.

Am I Sirius Black: the rebellious disgrace to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black? Or, am I Padfoot: loyal friend and Marauder? Am I Mr. Black: the troublesome Gryffindor who makes chaos and spends way too much time in detention? Or, am I Sirius: brother and protector, or Sirius: godfather and mentor?

I do not know; nor do I think I will ever know.

"_Who am I, Moony?" I asked as I carelessly flop down on my bed._

_Moony looked up, brushed neat hair out of his eyes and put down his quill. "I don't know, Padfoot; but do you?"_

_I opened my mouth, ready to say, 'Of course I do', but something stops me. "I—I don't know, Remus."_

"_You don't need to figure out who you are, Sirius; you need to figure out who you want to be; and be it. Then you'll be happy." Remus stood up, and with a lazy flick of his wand his parchment neatly rolled itself and his quills and ink fly to their correct spaces._

"_But, Moony—"_

"_Sirius, my grandmother always said: We learn more by looking for the answer to a question and not finding it than we do from learning the answer itself." And before I could wrap my mind around this, he was gone._

_Well, then._

Remus had bucket loads of quotes, and two always stayed with me: that one, and one from some Waldo guy: "For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else."

It made sense. I gained James, Remus, and Peter—and I lost Regulus. I gained Lily—and lost Peter, Lily and James. I gained Harry—and lost myself.

Rather ironic, isn't it?

* * *

Every time I look back on my childhood, I want to vomit. It was the furthest from a 'childhood' then I could imagine. I still remember the first time I decided I wasn't like the rest of my family. My father had told me to go study (I was five) like a good boy and stay away from the dungeons. I remember protesting, saying I wanted to play in the dungeons and pretend I was a prisoner or a brave knight, but he'd back-handed me and told me to 'get out'. I'd fled, but secretly crawled back in and watched from a niche in the wall.

"_Boys, boys, boys, what do we have here?" My father circled around a huddled group of regular people. "Filth."_

_The venom in his voice was strong, and I recoiled. What had they done to get my father so mad?_

"_You're undeserving, nasty little filth," spat my father. "You _stole_ magic and taint our world!"_

_One of them, a small boy who looked about eleven, sat up defiantly and spat in my father's face. I watched in awe as his blue eyes glittered and flashed. _

"_Fool!" My father wiped the spittle from his face and glared at him, before snapping his fingers. "Goyle!"_

_Goyle, a fat, cruel man, smiled manically and pointed his wand at the boy. "Crucio!"_

_The boy jerked and screamed, and I felt bile raising in my throat. What had this boy done?_

"_Johnny!" a woman screamed, rushing forwards and cradling her son's head in her arms. My heart ached as I saw the love and worry shining in her eyes. "You horrible, cruel maniacs! Damn you!"_

_My father's eyes flashed and he slapped the woman across the mouth, drawing blood. I nearly retched. This was horrible._

For nearly an hour I sat there, silently crying and rocking my body back and forth as my father tortured the people. It was awful, and when he finished I threw up. He heard me and stalked over to my hiding place, throwing me on the floor with a sharp, _"Did you like what you saw?"_

I, being the naïve fool that I am, said something along the lines of, "_Why did you do that to the poor people? They didn't do anything wrong,"_ which earned me a beating. Ever since then, my father would beat me daily, asking me why I was such a lazy loser, why I was a weak fool that wouldn't amount to anything.

Every time he had a bad day at work, he would come home staggeringly drunk and beat me until my eyes rolled up to the back of my head and the taste of blood was always present in my mouth. My dear mummy was no better; giving me endless chores to do when she _knew_ I was exhausted, and when I failed to complete them all, she would give me nasty potions and starve me.

It was a horrid existence, and if not for Reg, I would've killed myself years before I got to Hogwarts.

Sometimes, I really wish I did…except for James and Remus. They were the best friends I could have, and although we never discussed it openly, I always got healing potions and extra food every summer from them both. I can only hope they knew how much that meant to me.

Years later, when I would sit, hunched over in a sparse two-by-four cell while the Dementors tried valiantly to suck every happy memory out of my head, I treasured the thoughts of my friends…I let them have the memories but I never forgot their faces.

People ask how I survived Azkaban—even innocent people go insane. The answer? I kept myself sane by exercising my brain, I guess. It gave me immense pleasure—almost like the rush of joy when a prank is successful—to be perfectly sane and ask the Minister or a prison guard for the crossword because I was, "_getting a little bored sitting in my cell."_ It was almost like a tribute to James to see their shocked faces staring at me.

And then, at night, I would carve our story, the legacy of the Marauders, into the cold stone walls. A round circle for the moon, a jagged wolf and a scruffy dog howling as the stag stood behind them, antlers wide.

I conveniently left out the rat.

I never labeled the drawings, of course, but I drew various pranks and misdoings, I drew James pining over Lily and Remus doing homework while I chatted up another girl; those were memories that made up my Hogwarts career.

And then, one night—a full moon—I gathered up my strength and transformed into my animagus form, just to be closer to my unreachable friends…and I found, to my great amazement and relief, I felt like _me_ again. The dementors hovered past, but I didn't feel the horrible hopelessness draw over me like usual. In fact, I felt, well, _alive._

Then, that fateful day, the Minister himself happened to pass by.

"_Hullo, Minister," I said, my voice only slightly raspy._

_The Minister jumped and peered at me. "Black, isn't it? The _traitor."

_I stiffened at the slight but remained cool. "May I have the Daily Prophet? I do enjoy a good crossword."_

"_Oh yes, the guards did mention some…oddities about you," Fudge said, his voice laced with venom. I merely saluted him. I was used to taunts. Twelve years with bored prison guards with nothing to do but make fun of you would do that to a person._

"_What can I say? Azkaban ain't easy for the best of us," I said, watching the man with hooded eyes._

"_True, true," the Minister said distractedly, handing me the paper._

"_G'day, Minister." I said, flipping it open to the top page. Hmm…The Weasley's…nice family, I myself was good friends with the late Gideon and Fabian Prewett. I looked at the picture and froze. There. There was the rat the ruined my life._

For nearly two weeks I plotted fervently. How? How was I supposed to escape a _fortress? _I had to; for James. Then, I struck gold. My animagus! Then, suddenly, I knew what I had to do…and did it.

I can remember it: the new moon nowhere to be seen; the guards joking and laughing around; the silent swooping of the dementors and their rattling breaths; my heart thumping in my chest, straining and threatening to escape; the whisper of displaced air as my self shrunk and grew, fur covering my body; the thrill that overcame me as I made the mpossible, using my wits to quietly pad down the cool corridors…and then…

Then, I was gazing at the sky for the first time in twelve years, hearing the sudden shout as they discovered I was gone, and with a muffled splash I transformed mid-leap, diving into the freezing cold water.

My body was so cold, yet so alive. Freedom and a foreign emotion—hope—was pounding through my veins as I tirelessly swam, and maybe I was imagining it, maybe I was delusional with hunger and tiredness, but for one precious second I could've sworn I heard James laughing.

It was poetic. I'd basically just pranked the entire Ministry of Magic and was swimming my way towards freedom—and they couldn't do anything about it.

Then, I was reaching land and boarding the Knight Bus, and one day later I was staring at James' face and Lily's eyes.

How I longed to reveal myself! But, I couldn't. James—Harry—wouldn't belive me. He wouldn't believe a dirty, gaunt, skinny man who smelled horrible and told him, "I'm your godfather, Harry."

Oh, no. He would think I was crazy and run away…and I'd never be able to reunite with him. So, I would have to be subtle: I would capture the damn rat and force him to tell Harry the truth, then kill him.

Simple.

When I heard that Remus was teaching at the school, I added one more thing to my checklist, which consisted of:

**1. Clean up. **

**2. Find my way into Hogwarts. **

**3. Buy Harry an amazing broom to make up for twelve years of missed birthday/Christmases. **

**4. Capture Pettigrew.**

**5. Show Harry the truth. **

**6. Knock out Snape at least **_**once.**_

**7. Find the Marauders Map.**

**8. Tell Remus the truth.**

It was a rather simple list…well, not really, but it was the least I could do.

So, I took a deep breath, watched Harry board the Knight Bus, and bounded towards Hogwarts. I had a mission to do.

* * *

Even though Peter got away, I gained a godson, and the two years we were together, well, that made up for twelve years of agony…except that his destiny was always looming over my head.

Dumbledore forbade me to tell him, so in my last dying breath…well, thought…I told Dumbledore to tell him, and then I died in peace.

My only regret is that I died by falling through a curtain…but at least I can taunt Bellatrix. A woman killed her who had seven kids.

Bellatrix wasn't too happy about that.

James and Remus think it's hilarious, and that's all I can ask for, really.

Why?

Because Sirius Black is a lot of things, but first and foremost, he's a friend.

At least, that's who I want to be.

And who's going to stop me?

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! I've decided that I like writing these little one-shots too much to stop, so this story is officially on 'imcomplete'. Do not fear if I do not update for a while...I will, eventually! I promise. **

**I am very open to suggestions and corrections/criticisms, so don't be scared to tell me if you didn't like something!**

**For all of you people reading my other story, don't worry! I know I've practically dropped off the face of the Earth but school started and I was just bowled over with work!**

**Many thanks to my beta, LunyLikeLuna! She's amazing!**

**-Zanna1  
**


	4. Author's Note

This is ZANNA speaking. My friend got on my account and decided that, for some unknown reason, my username was too 'boring.' She changed it to _I'mActuallyASquib_...and I have no idea how to change it back, or if I even should. I decided that my old name WAS boring (I hate it when she's right) but I need your help in choosing a new one (and HOW to change it....)

Please help me!

Oh yeah, and I'll update soon, I promise. I got distracted (blame LoonyLikeLuna, she planted the idea in my head) because I was writing a oneshot about Ron and Hermione's marriage, because I REALLY don't think they are suitable AT ALL. So, I wrote like twenty thousand words, then I deleted it because I didn't like it. Now, I feel stupid because I thought about it, and I actually liked it.

I don't think things through, sometimes.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know!

Love you all!

-- [Insert Desired Name Here]


	5. Kiss Ron

Hey, this is the first "_As Requested By…_" scene I've written! This is what I'm going to do, for all future ARB's

_As Requested By __She-Who-Wishes-Not-To-Be-Named_

_"Can you write a relly short story where Hermione reacts to Ron kissing her in the Final Battle? I know the scene takes place in like, five or so minutes, but can you write like a 500 word thing about her reacting, then kinda hopefully thinking in a "next time…" kind of way?_

_Thanks a ton!_

_Your #1 Fan,_

_**__She-Who-Wishes-Not-To-Be-Named**"_

So there you have it! My first request. I hope this isn't too cliché, and that it is mildly amusing!

* * *

**11/25:** I'm really sorry I've been out of touch. Firstly, I'd been grounded. No using the computer except for school use. Ok, so I sneakily typed this up in like, half an hour...and I typed part one of Chapter One for my _Life and Lies_ series, but other then that, I followed the rules! Mostly. Anyway, my wonderful beta for the _Life and Lies_ series cannot beta anymore, so the chapters might take a littttle longer. Thankfully, _LoonyLikeLuna_, my beta for this series, has been amazing and agreed to beta the other series. Thanks, L.L.L! She betaed this, by the way. I hope you enjoy! Review, please!

Kiss Ron

Hermione Granger was shocked, petrified, stunned, dazed, surprised, and she could've thought of 32 more adjectives to use if her massive brain hadn't shut down. Ron Weasley, _Ronald Bilius Weasley_, was kissing her! Truth be told, she had been the one to kiss him, but she hadn't expected him to respond with such enthusiasm. She wasn't sad or anything; she was ecstatic, delighted, thrilled, overjoyed, elated, blissful, joyful, rapturous, euphoric, jubilant, and that was only the first ten adjectives she could think of! She'd waited four years for that kiss!

She kissed him passionately, pouring all her pent-up longing through her body and her lips. Their lips moved in tandem, and Hermione wanted to squeal as she felt Ron's tongue probe her lips. She opened them eagerly, submitting instead of leading for once in her life.

One three-hundredth of her brain registered Harry weakly clearing his throat and blushing. Poor Harry.

Ron, beloved, endearing, affectionate, sweet, amazing, wonderful, magical, magnificent, superior, lovely, exquisite, enchanting, attractive, superb, Ron deepened the kiss, evoking a myriad of colorful bursts of feeling in Hermione. Hermione had secretly poured over romance novels, but now, in real life, the fireworks didn't come…but the alternative was better. Hermione almost felt as though she could see colors that represented the feelings inside her. _I wonder if these are the fireworks everyone talks about?_ She thought to herself, feeling her mind start to whirr as she shifted into research mode—until Ron drew her closer and the kiss became more romantic. She immediately lost her thought-process.

It had always been like that, though. Ron, with his wide blue eyes and innocent grin, had always been the one to befuddle her. He was the first boy to make her cry, though the taunts he used were nothing new to her. Hermione wanted to laugh as she remembered how angry she'd get at night, thinking over her fights with Ron. She'd wanted to march up to the Boys' dorm and smack him across the face. He would make her lose some coherency, and his fights affected her more emotionally then any other fights did. That was a talent of hers; to be able to lessen the emotional attachments enough to get her brain thinking. She never could turn that off for Ron, though.

Hermione shyly (she was never shy!) took control of the kiss, trying to send a promise through it. Ok, so people like Lavender and Parvati kissed people all the time, and that never meant anything. Maybe Ron was just kissing her because she'd thrown herself at him so forcefully! He probably didn't like her, she realized with despair. How could he like her, the bushy-haired, smart aleck, insufferable know-it-all who usually didn't care what she looked like, when he could have any of the millions of beautiful girls at Hogwarts?

"_OI! There's a war going on here!"_ Harry shouted, and Hermione and Ron broke apart sheepishly. Ron, that familiar red tingle staining his cheeks and ears, grinned at her with a slightly shell-shocked boyish smile. He didn't let go of her, Hermione noted with girlish glee.

"_I know, mate," _Ron said, tightening his arms around Hermione. _"so it's now or never, isn't it?"_

Harry didn't think that helped at all. He began shouting about "holding it in" until they found the diadem. Hermione wasn't sure, as she was desperately trying to shove those unintelligent, unneeded, unnecessary, unclear, unusual, unfamiliar adolescent feelings out of her brain. She was finding it extremely difficult. There was a war going on, for Merlin's sake! She, the brains of the Golden Trio, could not afford to be losing concentration!

To cover up her confusing feelings, Hermione set about gathering up the basilisk fangs that had clattered to the floor when she'd _flung_ herself at him. _Merlin, why did I do that?_ Hermione fretted. She didn't have time to dwell on her mistake as Harry led them outside into the dark corridor that light up periodically with flashes of light. Hermione's brain was in a blur as they checked in with their friends, before Ron touched her hand and beckoned. Hermione wasn't precisely sure what was going on—another first for her—but Ron gave her a shy smile, and, like a lamb following her master, she did as he said. As she brushed past him, she heard him whisper, "Damn, I really do love her, don't I?" to himself.

When she heard that, Hermione couldn't help but smile foolishly. _HE LOVES ME!_ Hermione felt like squealing loudly, a sound that she had always detested. _Oh, Ronald,_ Hermione thought, squeezing Ron's hand as they ran. She smiled at him. _I think I love you too._ There would be time later to confess their feelings to each other. Maybe, they'd kiss a little more. Maybe he would ask her out. Maybe, one day, they might go farther.

But for now, they had a battle to fight.


End file.
